Lights, Love and Lust
by MadiBuzz
Summary: Kurt is a New York stripper trying desperately to make ends meet. Although he finds happiness in the attention, hip thrusts and flashing lights, something is missing. Could Blaine Anderson, a sexy, dapper new DJ at his work be the change he's looking for? T for sexual references and mention of strippers. Rating subject to change. Klaine AU. Please read and review!


**Author's note: Yay! New fanfic. Man, it's been a while now... Anyways, this is a fanfic in which Kurt is a stripper at a New York gay bar and after a fortunate accident at a bar, is visited at work by a very dapper local dj who wants a job - at Kurt's work. Where do things go from there? Will they find love through the strobe lights and pounding music? Read on to find out!**

Disclaimer: I. Do. Not. Own. Glee. Please read, review, and subscribe to me!

Even after hours of dancing through a veritable mass of sweaty strangers, Kurt Hummel hadn't even considered leaving the floor. Jostling around against people was no longer unpleasant once he became accustomed to it; in fact, each touch fueled him to keep moving, evidently some sort of twisted adrenaline meant to trap him in the music. Note after note surged in his head, eking away at all remaining thought and control, while his body maintained precision and expertise in his steps (the likes of which that only come from years of experience).

Considering his lack of conformity during his high school years, it was easy for Kurt to love the feeling of the dance floor. There was no one to laugh cruelly at his misfortune, send threatening glares in his direction, poke fun at his fashion decisions or criticize him for being the way he was (no one dared to, Boys & Beats **[Author's note: yes, that was the best name I could come up with for a gay bar. Leave me alone.]** had in impressive amount of security for a modest-sized New York gay bar). Not even the distinctive tone of his high pitched, almost girlish voice that he had tried to wish away so many a time made any difference to the people here.

He even received the occasional admiring glance from an onlooker, a pleasant change from the dirty looks he had once been so expectant of. The attention he had received that night, in fact, had been from a handsome, quiet, curly-haired stranger enjoying a cocktail in a far corner, glancing coyly at Kurt between sips. Little things like that could make Kurt smile for hours afterwards.  
He couldn't explain it.  
Everything just felt right.  
... Well, almost.

Beneath all the parties, dance circles and a select few drunken shouts of joy was the nagging sense that something was missing. For a second, Kurt had to wonder if it had anything to do with his job. Stripping wasn't the most fulfilling (or dignified) of careers, but it paid the bills, and for the time being, that was all that mattered. Oddly enough, it didn't actually bother Kurt. It was fairly simple as far as jobs go, had flexible hours and reasonable (although admittedly inconsistent) profits, and worked wonders for Kurt's once pitifully low self-esteem. All of this in mind, Kurt dismissed his original notion that his career might be an issue.

He just couldn't help but wonder how many times he had gone home from at night at the bar, drunk and alone.

'Stop it!' He scolded himself internally for thinking that way. He was only 23, after all, and having just finished his last year at NYADA, he knew he had more to offer the world than a nice body. He had gifts to share. Unfortunately for him though, it seemed the world was taking its sweet time to unwrap them. Despite his impressive track record at NYADA, he had yet to perform for a larger audience - while clothed, at least, and belting it out into his showerhead late at night did not curb his growing appetite for the spotlight. And yet somehow that ceased to matter to him. A deep longing for the heat of human contact had taken him over, as he didn't receive any that included emotion. He craved intimacy, passion... Love, even. Alas, loneliness still sapped a portion of the fun from his life.

He hadn't even talked to his own father in a few years, purely out of fear that he might snap and, in a moment of weakness, reveal exactly how he got himself through post-secondary. Guilt washed over him as he realized just how isolated he had become over the past few years. It was selfish to do this to Burt, (who he cared so much for) who he dearly missed, but not enough to risk disappointing him. Burt deserved better than that from his son.

It never failed to amaze Kurt just how deep into thought he could delve without his movements faltering, or losing his footing and causing a ten-gay domino line on the dance floor, like he had so infamously managed to do his first night at Boys & Beats. As for the outcome of that, let's just say that Kurt was lucky he could barely hear their angry shouts over the music.

Having been hit on by many a worthy prospect at the bar (and the few males that came by his workplace), it might have seemed strange for him, of all people, to be alone. A drunken hookup would occur every now and then, but seldom would they get very far in a physical or emotional sense. And naturally, none of them ever called again.

Out of the corner of his crystal blue eyes, he caught a faint glimpse of the clock in the back of the room, barely visible amidst the colorful flashing lights. Clearly he had lost track of time gyrating among the sweaty strangers; the people in his apartment building would not be pleased if he was any later. Carefully removing himself from the floor, he made a beeline for the exit, forgetting to retrieve his jacket from his regular bar stool.

No more than a second too late, the curly-haired stranger bolted for the jacket, snatching it up and running for the door. "Mister! Sir!" He yelled as he opened it. " You forgot your coat!" He glanced around, squinting through the faint glow of the streetlights outside. But the dancer had already disappeared from view into the darkness. Frustrated, he walked back inside and with a dismissive expression, dropped the jacket on the bar counter. It made a loud clunking noise, which pulled his attention right back to it. With cautious hands he examined it, and after a couple moments produced a. IPhone from the left pocket. He twirled it between his fingers, looking for some sort of clues about its owner, later finding only a name scrawled in Sharpie on the back. "Kurt Hummel..." His murmur was to no one in particular.

He sighed. "Blaine Anderson, what are you going to do about this?"

**Alright, thoughts? I know it's not particularly good, at least not yet, but I would like to continue it. This chapter was just meant to get things going and set the mood. I swear to you, it will improve. Please review! It means the world to me, makes me write faster, and as a bonus you get to make e smile like an idiot in public areas. Anyhow, point is, I really appreciate your reviews, whether good or bad.  
New chapter of Crossroads soon, and a possible epilogue for TeleKlainesis!  
Thank you,  
- Madi  
P.S- *cough* PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW *cough*  
**


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